


Hot Wine

by maybefrench



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A Bit of Fluff, Drabbles, F/M, Forgive Me, nothing original in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 03:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13941393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybefrench/pseuds/maybefrench
Summary: "Her father had promised a better suitor and beyond his grave, he had delivered, had she believed."Sansa musings. Jon's talking. Because hot wine do that.jonsa drabbles. day 2 : father.





	Hot Wine

Her father had promised a better suitor and beyond his grave, he had delivered, had she believed. Until the latest news. Her heart is screaming from pain, again. Jon is heading back to White Harbor with another woman, a young and beautiful one. He is young and beautiful too.

She foolishly thought that side of her life settled. Ruling Winterfell with her brother, no matter her wrong feelings. After all, she was used to living with bottled up feelings, she could do with sweet ones she’d cherish instead.

He had said and done more in one sentence than Robb had done in years. «  _Where will we go. If I don't look after you, Father's ghost will come back and murder me._  »  
It had been enough for her broken self to fell for him. And to start mending all her pieces.

Maybe she had it wrong. Maybe she is irrecoverable. Maybe Jon is Father. He did look the part. And she does look like her mother.

She does not want to be that couple. Her mother had been too stubborn, too traditional, nothing was the same anymore, her mother hadn’t prepared her at all, and she had been through a lot.

She doesn't want Jon to be Father, and yet he has the same honour and sense of duty.

\---

«  _I’m not our father,_  » he says on the evening of his coming home, out of nowhere.

She’s a bit tipsy, they drank hot wine. She disliked the taste but it went down faster than usual wine, out of politeness she accepted a second cup. Usually, he’s gone after one ale if he ever finishes it. Tonight, he probably wants to talk.

«  _Indeed, Father was not impulsive,_  » she replies. She wouldn’t really know. Father never beat someone before her.

She sights. That’s not the answer she wants to give but the wind that came with the retinue confirmed rumours it had already brought to her ears. He is probably hinting at them, trying to tell her he’s to marry.

«  _Despite … me, Father was honourable. I am not._  »

«  _Marry her,_  » she answers simply, the hot wine is hitting hard now, nearly knocking her to sleep.

She stands, he grabs her hands.

«  _We can’t._ »

Her head hurts. She’s pretty sure he said «  _we_  », but now is too late to analyze and dissect everything. He looks at her, sadness colouring his eyes. As if loving was torture.

«  _Don’t be ridiculous. She’ll accept._ » She smirks. « _It would be ridiculous of her to refuse._  » She lightly pulls her hand, he holds it tighter. He stands out of his chair, she can smell the wine on his breath.

«  _Would you?_  » His voice is almost pleading, bearing all his insecurities, tugging on her hand, trying to get her in his embrace.  
  
Lucidity hits her and it frightens her. He’s not with the Queen. He’s here. He’s holding her hand. And Father didn’t love his sister like he does.


End file.
